


the sinking of you

by Belgium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:45:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belgium/pseuds/Belgium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torn ligaments, twisted joints, fractured bones—things like that heal with time. There are permanent injuries, though, like the way Asahi’s traps get tight for no reason or the way Koushi’s left ring finger is just the tiniest bit crooked, or how, even now, Asahi can’t quite look Koushi in the eye sometimes. Post-canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sinking of you

**Author's Note:**

> [title](http://reciprocal.tumblr.com/post/35037272426).  
>  "when you think of another person, that mentally woven image will float up to the surface beyond your reach while you are weighted down by your own obsession."
> 
> for carmen. surprise!  
> and thank you whit for everything ♡

Koushi's new Tokyo apartment is about the size of a matchbox. Smaller, even. It was easier for Koushi and Daichi to navigate around the space, but Asahi is a half a head taller than them both and has to duck his head under the low arch connecting the kitchen to the living room lest his hair get stuck on the textured ceiling. Koushi thought it was hilarious and had recorded a video on his phone when he thought Asahi wasn't looking. It was hard not to look, though.

Asahi wasn't completely sure what he was even doing there, hours away from Miyagi, sitting on the most comfortable couch in the world, watching Koushi and Daichi gossip about—whatever they tended to gossip about when they were both on Karasuno leadership—out of the corner of his eye. Some habits stick. Daichi had offered to help Koushi move away to university and Asahi immediately attempted to blend into the background as much as possible; evidentially, it didn't work.

“It’s my last hurrah as a third year," Daichi had explained. He nodded at Asahi, who tried to look as if he'd gotten an unexpectedly urgent text. “Asahi will help, too. _Right_ , Asahi?"

“You _want_ to spend your last days as a third year carrying heavy furniture?" Koushi asked Daichi. "You’re not getting paid for this, you know. Every last yen I had already went towards my tuition—university is soulless."

“I'm just a captain lending a hand to his vice captain one last time. You’d do the same for me!"

Koushi smiled skeptically. “Suit yourself. But you don't have to, Asahi."

“Ah, no," Asahi said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He’d gotten a text from his mother about a possible convenience store run and Yuu had sent him a blurry selfie with Ryuunosuke at the park, some pretty girls in the background. Nothing groundbreaking. Asahi thought about what his calendar looked like for the next year: completely empty. Nothing groundbreaking ever happened. “I'll help, too, Suga."

“Really? I'll leave it in your capable hands, then. I'm not going to lift a finger." Despite Koushi’s teasing tone, his grin was thankful. It wasn't in Koushi’s nature to sit back and let someone else do all the work for him; in the end, Koushi had done as much as Asahi and Daichi both, but it still had taken the three most of the day to arrange everything to Koushi’s satisfaction.

“This was probably worse than our usual drills," Daichi had concluded, sinking heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. “We should've left it to Ennoshita's first practice."

“That would be even more heartless than usual for you," Asahi said, hastily wandering into the living room before Daichi could begin to threaten him. Koushi had just laughed and joined Daichi in the kitchen.

“Thank you guys for helping," he said earnestly. “You really didn't have to."

Asahi shook his head from the sofa. “It was kind of nice to spend time together," he admitted as he stretched out his sore neck and back. “We don't know the next time where it'll be the three of us together again. It really was fate that we all met at Karasuno…"

Koushi snorted. " _Aaah_. Sentimental beard strikes again!"

Asahi blanched. "First it was negative beard, now it's sentimental beard?"

"I'm not going to stop attacking your beard until it's shaved off," he sing-songed sweetly, "and even then, I'll still have your hair." Reflexively, Asahi's hand flew to his loose ponytail.

"Are you going to shave your head, too? Honestly, you're so embarrassing when you're like this, Asahi," Daichi had admonished lightly. "It’s not like we'll never see each other again. Life doesn't just suddenly end after high school—we'll have plenty of opportunities to catch up. After all, we're best friends, aren't we?"

Best friends.

It warmed Asahi up on the inside but for some inexplicable reason it left him dead cold at the same time. There was no logical reason for it—well, not one he could discern from on the couch, anyway—but even though Asahi was sitting maybe ten feet away from the kitchen table, he felt as if he were miles away, like he had not left Miyagi at all and was watching Koushi and Daichi in Tokyo through the grainy screen of a LINE call instead. Space seemed to distort itself, and it wasn't because Koushi's apartment was smaller than the Karasuno volleyball club supply closet, but because the truth was that Asahi had noticed the subtle rift between the one-and-two of them a long, long time ago.

-

Asahi remembers Koushi more vividly from their first year, even if Daichi was the better player. They had been the only first years to try out for the club, so it was only natural that they gelled so quickly. It was partly out of necessity—the endless practices were much more bearable when misery had company—but funnily enough, even though Koushi was just as new to the program as Asahi and Daichi were, he was the most welcoming out of anyone else on the team.

Koushi had been willowy from the start. His fingers were neatly taped during the season, shoddily during the training camps. The way his wrist snapped the ball up was inconsistent when he got nervous, so sometimes his tosses were unpredictable. His ash blond hair was cropped a little closer to his head back then, but Asahi's was, too. Things grow. The only official match he played in full that year was their first match of the Inter-High, and only because the train that their starting setter was on had broken down, four hours away, and he had literally no way of getting back to Miyagi in time.

They had won by the skin of their teeth, and the most surprised of them all was Koushi himself. Asahi recalls the way Daichi thumped Koushi on the back once, then five more times for good measure, the way their captain had grinned and drawled, "I didn't realize you were such a sharp thinker, Sugawara. You gonna be on the court more next year?" and at that moment Koushi's eyes filled with so many stars Asahi thought he might burst.

Later, after their cool down when they'd been sitting around on the bench in an empty court, Koushi had suddenly whispered to him, "Asahi, I was so scared."

He looked over at him. Koushi had clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words slipped out, mouth pulling to the side as if he were trying to hold back tears—whether they were tears of relief or frustration, to this day Asahi still can't decide. He rolled his water bottle over and over against burning red palms, grazed knuckles, his bruised, tired fingertips.

"I understand," Asahi had said gently, breaking the silence. "I get scared, too."

"It’s just… I just think myself out of things, over and over again," Koushi had continued angrily, still staring down at his water bottle. "There were so many moments where my gut instinct was right, but I started to doubt myself and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see the solution at all." He looked up at Asahi for the first time, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry that I kept tossing the ball to you. It must have been overwhelming."

"It wasn't," Asahi replied honestly. "We’re both first years so I'm glad you entrusted the ball to me, Suga. It makes me want to work even harder."

The water bottle stopped in Koushi's hands.

"I know I'm not as good as you or Daichi. Even so, I can't help but feel like I’m being left behind. But I don't want to feel that way anymore," Koushi had said quietly, determinedly. "I want to earn my place. I never want to doubt myself again." He paused, then grinned, but Asahi could see how his eyes were glassy with an unbroken film of tears. "So don't work _too_ hard, Asahi! I'll catch up to you. I will."

Koushi doesn't tape his fingers anymore. Or, at least, Koushi's fingers aren't taped when the three make their twice-monthly LINE calls.

There’s no reason to, seeing as the only one who plays on the regular is Daichi, for a tiny neighborhood association team in Sendai where he goes to school. Conversely, Tokyo’s tryout season hadn't started yet, and, besides, Koushi says he hadn't decided if he even wanted to play in university. He had donated rolls upon rolls of unused athletic tape to Tobio as soon as Karasuno's season was over ("I used to think, a little naively, that I would never not need them," he had admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, and Tobio dived into a bow so deep that his nose grazed his knees). Asahi had thought that that was the final nail in the coffin to Koushi's volleyball career, but maybe it wasn't true at all. It was hard to tell what Koushi was thinking sometimes.

"Do you think that we'd be still friends even if we weren't on the same volleyball team?" Asahi had asked Koushi on their walk to school once.

Koushi had immediately reached for his ribs; Asahi flinched violently, yelping. "Get a grip, nostalgic beard. What in the world are you going to do without me and Daichi around?" He laughed, a bright, beautiful sound, but it slowly faded when he realized the implications of what he had said.

They walked the rest of the way deep in thought, in a silence that pretended to be amicable.

"I really don't know," Koushi had finally answered him just as they'd entered the third year hallway. "I want to say yes. But you know how it goes."

"I know," Asahi agreed, even if it wasn’t the answer he had wanted to hear.

"I mean," he added hastily, "how would we even have the time to be friends? We could have been on different courts, on different sides of the net. Or maybe I wouldn't have been on a court at all." Asahi's eyes shied away. "There are so many variables that could've affected us, but somehow, despite multiple different pulls of the universe, we both ended up here." Koushi smiled wistfully. "The things that have stayed constant so far—Miyagi, volleyball, you and Daichi—they're hard to let go of. So even if I have to let go of Miyagi soon, even if I might have to let go of volleyball later, selfishly, I don't ever want to let go of you and Daichi." He hesitated. "If that's okay."

It was always _you and Daichi_ , Asahi had realized a little belatedly, standing in the middle of a crowded hallway on a beautiful Tuesday morning. Or _me and Daichi_. Or _we_ , as in _you, Daichi, and me_. Never just _you and me_.

"Suga," Asahi had spoken up suddenly, startling him, "if you could do it all over again, would you? Everything, I mean. Even all the bad parts. Even when I…"

Koushi paused and glanced into the windows of class 3-4. Daichi's seat was still empty. He turned back to him.

"Over and over and over again, without a doubt. Even all the bad parts," Koushi confirmed gently. "Even when you." Then: "Did you finish your English homework?"

He had not. Asahi doesn't quite remember the rest, other than sprinting to his desk in 3-3 in record time ("Didn't do your homework last night, Azumane? Drug deal gone wrong?") and staring at the English in his workbook until it warped into something made even less sense than usual, Koushi's half-concerned, half-hysterical laughter floating, carrying clearly like a bell from the hallway.

In the back of his head, Asahi knew that it was rare for Koushi to be so completely truthful about his own feelings with him like that. Or with anyone, for that matter—it wasn't as if Koushi was a dishonest person, but he had the tendency to change the way he talked depending on who he was talking to. It was just a thing that made Koushi _Koushi_ ; Asahi tried not to take it personally, tried not to wonder why he still couldn't quite pin him down, tried not to think about how Koushi probably felt much more comfortable with Daichi than with him.

-

The goodbye party was initially Ryuunosuke's idea, which Daichi and Koushi immediately vetoed as leadership ("Do you _want_ to make Asahi cry? You’d be putting me out of a job," teased Daichi, although Asahi wasn't quite sure if his sentiment was a joke or not), but Yuu and Shouyou had somehow managed to wheedle their way into Koushi's good graces. They systematically wore him down ("Grant us one last wish out of the goodness of your heart, Suga-san!" "Please, Sugawara-san? We’ll be good! You won't know we were even there after!" "What the hell is that supposed to mean, dumbass Hinata?") until one day Koushi stopped the two before they could even get in a word and ground out, "Only if the first and second years do all the work."

Yuu high-fived Shouyou enthusiastically and chirped, "Great! You won't regret it. See you guys on Saturday at your house, Suga-san!" before they both power walked off the court.

"My house," Koushi echoed numbly, staring at the space where they had just been.

"I think you just got conned by Nishinoya and Hinata; you're probably too nice for your own good, Suga. Sorry, vice captain!" Daichi had merely patted him on the back before jogging after the two and Asahi willed himself to disappear into thin air.

"Asahi?" Koushi voiced out in spite of Asahi's best efforts.

"Sorry, vice captain," Asahi said more sincerely than Daichi, “it looks like they got you. Nishinoya and Hinata are pretty relentless, even when they’re off the court…”

“If they got me, then they got all of us.” Koushi thumped him hard on the upper arm, briefly sending Asahi into a world of pain he knew all too well, before Koushi, too, trailed after Daichi and the underclassmen. “See you there, ace!”

Asahi wasn’t sure of what he had been imagining but the party was less a party and more of a casual team gathering, which made sense seeing as the underclassmen only had a day and a half to prepare for it all. Most of them, Asahi realized, had never seen Koushi’s house, much less step foot into it; for Asahi, who lived only a few blocks down, it was as familiar as stepping into the practice gym even after weeks of being away. The first years had been assigned individual walls of the living room to decorate; Asahi could pick out Shouyou and Tobio’s walls immediately—they were by far the most garish.

“Youth,” Asahi had absentmindedly breathed out when he had stood next to Daichi at the edge of the room, admiring the mess that was once the Sugawaras' pristine home.

Daichi had given him a strange look. “What are you on about now, you big goofball?"

Asahi shook his head quickly. “Nothing. By the way,” he said, diverting Daichi’s attention, “do you think Suga is still breathing?”

“I’m not positive,” Daichi admitted grimly. “Those walls are honestly so hideous. My eyes feel offended. I was about to say that I couldn’t believe Hinata and Kageyama could make a competition out of decorating. _But_.”

"Are you sure Ennoshita will be okay next year? The first years are a bit much…”

“Just a bit?” Daichi grimaced. “It’s what keeps me up at night. Suga, too—sometimes we just commiserate over SMS at one in the morning. All our hard work this year, precariously balanced in the hands of the second year kids. _Aaah_.” He sighed. “This is what leadership does to you: sooner or later, you think of everyone as your children.”

Asahi laughed weakly. “Am I your child, too?”

“Of course. The biggest crybaby of them all,” Daichi confirmed blithely and pushed Asahi into the crowd. “Go check if Suga’s still alive—I think I saw him with Kageyama a while ago? I’m gonna see if I can give Ennoshita a pep talk or not.”

As it turned out, Koushi was in fact still alive and chatting with Tobio in the kitchen, just like Daichi had said. Koushi’s smile seemed more frazzled than usual, though he had perked up when he spotted Asahi. Asahi waved and smiled back, getting ready to bolt, but before he could, Tobio turned around and gave him a little bow.

“Oh, Asahi-san. Did you want something to drink?”

“Um.” Asahi glanced at Koushi; Koushi just shrugged. “Usually there’s some Pocari Sweat…” Tobio raised an eyebrow. “In Suga’s refrigerator.” If anything, his eyebrow rose even higher. “Well, I live about ten minutes away, so it’s convenient…”

“I don’t know about that,” Tobio had said earnestly after a moment of consideration. Koushi nearly choked trying to hide his snort. “Tanaka-san was in charge of drinks, but the last time I saw him, he was trying to convince Hinata on something really stupid. So, naturally, I’m helping now.”

“You’ve been a huge help, Kageyama,” Koushi said soothingly, but Asahi had known Koushi long enough to know that he was trying his hardest not to laugh.

“Thank you, Sugawara-san. I respect you very much, Asahi-san—the ace has a lot on their shoulders—but no offense, being a setter is extremely demanding, so setters have to support each other.” By then, Koushi’s entire face had scrunched up, ears tinged red with effort. “It’s mentally and physically taxing. Who should I toss the ball to? Who has the best chance of scoring a point? What kind of toss will best compliment the hitter? Will the hitter be able to spike it? Will they be able to spike through a blocker? _Three_ blockers?” Tobio shook his head as if he couldn’t even believe it. “Isn’t the setter the coolest?”

“The starting setter is usually the captain for a lot of teams,” Asahi had agreed.

“Captain,” repeated Tobio thoughtfully. “I—”

“ _Um_ ,” interrupted Koushi distressedly, “so what do you guys think Tanaka is talking to Hinata about?”

The bait worked; as soon as Shouyou was mentioned, Tobio snorted dismissively. “Who knows? They’re probably not up to any good.” Tobio’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Speak of the devil. What do you want, dumbass Hinata?”

“Whatever, Kageyama,” Shouyou sniffed but brightened at the upperclassmen. “Sugawara-san, Asahi-san, what are you doing here?”

“This is Suga’s house,” Asahi had answered before thinking.

Koushi jabbed his side. “Don’t be a silly beard,” he said above Asahi’s yelp, “he meant why we’re in the kitchen. We were just talking, Hinata, but I was just about to—”

“Then what are _you_ doing here, Kageyama? You’re being awfully suspicious,” Shouyou accused.

“Don’t talk over Sugawara-san like that.” Tobio scowled. “I was manning the drinks.”

“Rude! You didn’t offer me any!”

“I asked you what you wanted, didn’t I?” This had been somewhat true. “ _Did_ you want something?”

Shouyou beamed. “Canned coffee, if you have it?”

Tobio scowled and reached into the refrigerator for a can of Boss. “Here, I’ll even open it—”

“I don’t need your help, Kageyama, go help someone else,” Shouyou protested, reaching for the can in Tobio’s hand.

“ _It’s the least I could do_ ,” gritted out Tobio, wrestling the can back.

“Well, _kings shouldn’t have to lift a finger_ —”

“ _Hinata, I’m going to end you_ —”

“Ah, you guys, wait!”

But Asahi’s outburst had been much too late; the coffee was already spilling from the can, splashing all over Asahi and Koushi’s shirts, leaving an incredibly unpleasant cold dampness on their skin. The damage had already been done. Even though he had been caught in the crossfire, Asahi found himself thanking whatever higher power above on Shouyou and Tobio’s behalves that Koushi wasn’t Daichi.

“I trust you two will clean up the kitchen?” Koushi asked evenly, though it wasn’t really a question at all. Shouyou and Tobio nodded dumbly. Placated, Koushi grabbed Asahi by the arm and marched upstairs to his room.

“Geez,” Koushi had muttered under his breath, although Asahi couldn’t detect true anger. He flicked on the ceiling light and gave Asahi a gentle nudge. “To be completely honest, I was planning to make my escape soon, but I didn’t know it would end up like this. Once he gets going about volleyball, Kageyama really doesn’t stop, does he? You can sit at my desk if you want to.” Asahi complied, sinking into Koushi’s office chair, and Koushi shut the door. “I’m sorry you got caught up in it, too.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Suga,” Asahi said. “Daichi was the one who sent me in the first place.”

“Daichi?” Koushi dabbed at the coffee stain on his shirt with a towel to no avail. “Nope.” He sighed. “Well, into the washer our shirts go. Daichi needs to stop picking on you. Do you want me to bully him back a little?” Koushi’s eyes gleamed mischievously.

Asahi laughed nervously and shook his head no.

“Don’t be so scared of him, it’s just Daichi. We’re all the same age anyway.”

“You say that, but…”

But even though he knew better, to Asahi, Koushi always seemed just a little more fearless than the rest.

Koushi didn’t say a word. He had just smiled warmly at him before turning to his neat closet, rummaging through here and there. “I can’t promise you that I have a shirt that fits you, but my aunt gave me a sweater that was too big for me on my birthday last year and I didn’t have the heart to throw it out… I know it’s somewhere in here… just a minute… ah, no, I found it!”

He had fished out a lovely expensive-looking grey sweater from the very back, gently tossing it to Asahi, and then pulled out a simple long-sleeved tee for himself.

“You don’t mind if we just change here, do you?” Koushi asked courteously.

Asahi didn’t. Koushi hummed, turning away, and peeled off his sticky shirt, Asahi following suit.

They had been on the same team for the last three years, so it was not the first time Asahi had seen Koushi shirtless. It was, however, the first time they had been so close to each other, and Asahi hadn’t meant to look, but Koushi had the tiniest smattering of freckles on his lower back, like a constellation nestling into the curve of his spine.

It was a non-issue. It shouldn’t have been anything. It was just Koushi’s body in the most natural sense of the word. There were only a few freckles, maybe three or four at most, but for some reason Asahi couldn’t stop staring; it was the same feeling Asahi had when he was embarrassed or anxious or guilty and couldn’t quite look at Koushi directly, carefully looking at the beauty mark under his left eye instead.

“It looks really nice on you,” Koushi had said, abruptly snapping Asahi out of his trance. “The sweater.”

Asahi rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. It matches your hair, kind of.”

He laughed. “You should take it. It’d be a waste if I kept it, I’ve never even worn it.”

“ _Aaah_ , no, I couldn’t.”

“ _A-sa-hi_.”

“I really couldn’t!”

Koushi met his gaze and held it. Asahi was suddenly hyperaware of himself and the space they inhabited, the distance between them.

“Sometimes I wish you would be more selfish,” Koushi finally said, voice quiet.

 _I wish I would, too_ , Asahi had thought about saying, but that didn’t sound right. _I wish you would, too_ got stuck somewhere in between his head and his mouth. Instead, as he followed Koushi wordlessly down the stairs and back into the party, deflecting compliments on his new sweater, he thought about the permutations of _you and Daichi_ and _me and Daichi_ and _you, Daichi, and me_ , the absence of _you and me_.

-

Asahi follows Koushi’s advice in a somewhat roundabout way. He never tells Koushi about the freckles on his back, keeping it a secret from him for a reason that he can’t understand, and for some reason Asahi doesn’t even take into consideration that Koushi might already know. It was as if the secret anchored Koushi to Asahi, so that even if they never saw each other again, Asahi would always possess a part of Koushi that _Koushi_ didn’t even know existed.

It was how Asahi coped with the mindless days after Daichi and Koushi had both moved away to university. Inevitably, Asahi gets left behind, though it was mostly his own doing for not pursuing university, anyway. He spends his days in self-induced isolation, walking his neighbor’s yappy little dog and idly watching reruns of _Doraemon_. Daichi messages him, and so does Koushi, but he rarely messaged them back. The emails and texts slow down after the first few weeks, and then, soon, they don’t really come at all.

Asahi keeps Koushi’s sweater in the very back of his dresser, next to his old Karasuno jerseys. He keeps the memory of Koushi’s freckles in the very back of his mind.

The only thing Asahi had to look forward to lately seemed to be their LINE video calls, where he watches Daichi complain animatedly about his business courses and listens to Koushi’s lectures what he had learned in kinesiology that week, and the occasional visits from the Karasuno second and third years. Yuu swung by the most often, sometimes bringing Ryuunosuke with him, sometimes Shouyou, sometimes both. Tobio had even joined them once, although Asahi suspected it was because Tobio had probably lost a bet and not because he had any particularly warm feelings towards his former senpai.

Yuu makes him go out shopping with him the day after the latest LINE call. “I need new volleyball shoes,” he had said in lieu of a proper greeting, and Asahi tried not to feel offended.

“Ah, Nishinoya,” Asahi had said, puttering uselessly around in his doorway, conscious of _Doraemon_ playing in his living room behind him. “I’m, uh…”

“Don’t even try it with me, Asahi-san,” Yuu said cheerfully. “I can just _see_ the excuse wheel turning in your head. No excuses will fly by me. I’m not a libero on just the court.”

“I’m…,” he had attempted again.

“I’ll only take up an hour or two of your time! I promise I’ll leave you alone after.”

Asahi looked at Yuu.

“Please don’t run away again, Asahi-san,” he had said, unexpectedly soft. He then brightened, grinning playfully. “I’ll even treat you. Pocari Sweat, right? I saw Suga-san’s refrigerator that one time. There’s no way someone as nice and gentle as Suga-san could drink all that Pocari Sweat by himself.”

“Suga drinks a lot, you know… and how nice and gentle someone is doesn’t necessarily determine what kind of drink they like,” Asahi had tried to defend himself, but Yuu already started to jauntily walk away.

To no one’s surprise, Asahi had caved. They take the bus downtown; Yuu tells him about the first year members and how hard they work (and how hard Ennoshita works them all) and in turn, Asahi tells Yuu about Daichi’s new volleyball club in Sendai and how Koushi gets lost in Tokyo every other day.

“And what about you?” Yuu asks when they arrive at his favorite shoe store. He runs his strong, calloused fingers through bright laces on a display that catches his eye. “I miss Daichi-san and Suga-san, too, but I’m hanging out with you right now.”

Asahi hesitates, the words caught in his mouth.

“I’ve been thinking,” he finally says, and it wasn’t completely a lie, but the way Yuu looks at him makes him feel extraordinarily open.

Yuu sighs, picking up a pair of blindingly yellow shoes, testing the weight in his hands. “Asahi-san, I’m just going to say it outright,” he proclaims. “First of all, I don’t actually need new volleyball shoes—I just needed an excuse to get you out of your house, but these look kind of cool, don’t they? And second of all…” Yuu frowns. “I don’t know. You’re quieter than usual.” He goes up on his tiptoes, peering up at him. “Did something happen? With Suga-san?”

Asahi’s face falls. “Suga? Not really… well, a little bit… It’s just—maybe—it’s complicated, Nishinoya…”

But it was a trap.

“Fell for it,” Yuu informs him with glee, putting the shoes back. “I figured it was either Daichi-san or Suga-san, so I just picked one of them. But it makes sense that it’s Suga-san. You always seem like you’re wilting without him.”

“Wilting?”

“You know.” Yuu makes some vague gestures with his hands. “When I look at you lately, I feel like I’m looking at a sad houseplant. Must be the fact that all your Pocari Sweat is in Suga-san’s fridge and you have no way to get to it.” Yuu’s expression turns serious. “Whatever it is, though, don’t you think he should know about it? If Ryuu or Shouyou were ever upset at me or because of me, I would want to know. I’m sure Suga-san thinks the same way, too.”

Yuu smiles encouragingly at him and it takes all the effort in Asahi’s body to smile back.

He wouldn’t know, Asahi thinks, staring out the window on the bus home. Maybe more accurately, he wouldn’t understand. Asahi himself can’t even put into words what the weight in his heart was, the big lump in his throat whenever he thought about Koushi. He felt heavy—not in the literal sense, but it was as if his thoughts had all manifested into weights in his chest, forcing him to sink down in a deep, empty space that felt much too small for his body. Every memory was a memory of Koushi. It felt suffocating. Asahi couldn’t breathe, and he decides that he would never let anyone in. There was simply not enough room.

-

Koushi’s apartment is just as small as Asahi remembered it to be, only this time Daichi isn’t there to alleviate all the silences that fell in between them. He had fractured his foot, he had told them in a LINE video call, doing a flying fall and had landed horribly, horribly wrong.

“How on earth…,” Koushi had started to say, before leaning in and sternly shaking his finger at him. “Daichi, I can’t believe you did this. Did you learn nothing during our Tokyo training camp last year?”

“Don’t be mad, Suga,” Daichi implored. “It wasn’t like I did it on purpose. Asahi? Please tell Suga I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Koushi turned to Asahi and frowned deeply.

“I think he already knows,” Asahi relayed to Daichi meekly.

“You’d think you’d break your radius and ulna,” Koushi pressed on, “or your mandible or sternum or—” At this point, Asahi had remembered that Koushi’s major was kinesiology “—any other bone in your upper body, but your _foot_?”

“I’m really talented?” Daichi had attempted to mollify him. “Is that coffee table new, Suga? It looks nice. Everything you own always looks nice. I remember how your room in Miyagi was always neat and I would get super jealous. Anyone would aspire to be as organized as you. Anyway, I have to go now—bed rest, you know, so try not to have too much fun without me!” And before Koushi could get in the final word, Daichi had already pressed the end call button, leaving Asahi and Koushi huddled together on the couch, staring at an empty black screen.

“The table _is_ new,” Koushi conceded, half to Asahi, half to the screen, after a lengthy pause.

“It looks nice,” Asahi repeated. Koushi cracked a smile.

They talk about this and that after. Asahi had recognized the beginnings of a familiar anxiety settle in his bones when he realized he had no escape route, but it had subsided when he felt Koushi’s small, warm hand on his shoulder.

Koushi does that thing he does, where he compensates for Asahi’s awkward, stilted speech by being as soothing and gentle as possible, and Asahi knows it should maybe feel a little patronizing but he lets his voice wash over him—it feels _good_ , and for a moment, Asahi can pretend to forget that he had ever seen a secret part of Koushi, pretend that he doesn’t know where exactly he fits into _you, Daichi, and me_. That he isn’t weighed down by fear and guilt and uncertainty.

It was surprisingly easy to talk deep into the night. Koushi refuses to let Asahi sleep on the couch; instead, he pulls out two tatami mats from the closet and they push the coffee table into the hallway. As they settle into the mats, Koushi cocooning himself with a mountain of blankets, Asahi wonders how could Koushi feel so far away when their noses were nearly touching.

Torn ligaments, twisted joints, fractured bones—things like that heal with time. There are permanent injuries, though, like the way Asahi’s traps get tight for no reason or the way Koushi’s left ring finger is just the tiniest bit crooked, or how, even now, Asahi can’t quite look Koushi in the eye.

“Remember—” Koushi’s eyelids flutter open, causing Asahi’s voice to catch, so he clears his throat. “Remember, last year, when I asked you if you thought we could have been friends if we hadn’t been on the same team and you said no?”

“I never said no,” he finally replies. “Forgetful beard,” he adds, but it doesn’t sound as playful as usual. “I said I didn’t know.”

Asahi shuts his eyes.

“The future scares me, Suga,” he says quietly. Koushi’s eyebrows draw together at that. “I used to have you, but now I don’t. You’re far, far away from me and I’m not in a place where I can catch up.” He doesn’t know why he leaves out Daichi. His fist is clenched, as if he were clasping the physical manifestation of Koushi’s freckles in his hand. But his hand is empty. “I don’t know what I want to do, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know how.”

A beat passes.

“How scared are you?” asks Koushi.

Asahi freezes. “What?”

“On a scale of one to ten,” Koushi supplements. “One being very brave, how scared are you?”

He frowns. “I’m not sure. What’s a ten?”

“You’re so scared that you’ve already wet yourself,” Koushi answers wryly. “I hope, for your sake and mine, that it’s not a ten. You’ll have to do your own laundry, because I refuse to, and I don’t know if I have any clothes that would fit you this time.”

“Nine,” Asahi admits after consideration.

“You’d better keep your bladder in check, then.”

“And a half,” he adds belatedly.

Koushi softens. “Scaredy beard,” he teases, but it’s gentler than normal. He lowers his voice conspiratorially, smiling. “I’m scared, too. I’m not quite a nine and a half, but everything is so big in Tokyo and I’m so small and insignificant in comparison. I don’t know what to do, either,” he confesses. “It’s overwhelming. So I’m sorry you feel like that, Asahi, because I feel it, too. It eats you up inside.”

His fingers start gently combing through Asahi’s soft, curly hair. “You think you don’t have anyone,” Koushi continues, “but that’s not true at all. You have me. You don’t have to carry the weight of everything by yourself.”

Asahi leans into the gentle weight of his fingers.

“How can you be so honest with me all the time?”

Koushi laughs. “Isn’t it obvious? I trust you, that’s why. If you want to talk, then you should talk. I won’t push you, though.” He turns serious. “It’s okay to be scared, Asahi. There’s nothing in this world that’s certain. But I _will_ promise you that we’ll be best friends for a long, long time—nothing you say or do will ever change that.”

Best friends.

Asahi thinks about the freckles on Koushi’s back, the way he had kept it a secret, his desperate hold on something he already had. Bravely, he opens his mouth.

“Suga?”

“Yeah, Asahi?”

“Um… do you… could I…” Asahi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Would it be weird if I wanted to hold your hand?”  
  
When he forces himself to pry his eyes open, Koushi is grinning sweetly at him. “Aww, _Asahi_ ,” he says, not unkindly, “all you ever had to do was ask.”  
  
Koushi untangles his hand from Asahi’s hair and intertwines his warm, warm fingers with Asahi’s own, and even though the living room is almost abnormally hot for this time of year, Asahi doesn’t mind at all. There was a semblance of a _something_ he could not place that infiltrates his chest—something in between want, need, and have—pushing the heaviness out with his soft exhales. It filled him up, but it wasn’t a burden like the secret. It was what it was.

When he tightens his grasp, Koushi squeezes back. For the first time, Asahi basks in the newfound possibility of _you and me_.


End file.
